


Second-in-Command

by Tomo



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, M/M, Murder, Rape/Non-con Elements, Unrequited Gobblepot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-01-07 05:02:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12226296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomo/pseuds/Tomo
Summary: Cobblepot/Maroni from different POVs.





	1. The Second

**Author's Note:**

> Frankie Carbone's POV
> 
> Maroni/Cobblepot are my guilty pleasure pairing. I can never get enough  
> ***
> 
> Just leaving this here.
> 
> moll  
> /mɒl/  
> noun (slang)  
> 1\. the female accomplice of a gangster  
> 2\. a prostitute

 

In the twenty plus years he’d known Maroni, Frankie had seen plenty of pretty young things fall in and out of his favor.

They were usually dark haired, wide eyed, slight things that Maroni delighted in spoiling. They rarely dared interfere with business. Those that did show signs of ambition, those who weren’t satisfied with gifts and trinkets, well, Maroni took care of them right away. Or rather, he’d have Frankie take care of them.

None of those affairs had been like _this_. None had ever gotten Maroni so _twisted_ as Oswald Cobblepot.

He was a lame, fragile looking thing, and maybe that’s why Maroni let his guard down around him. Frankie scoffed to himself, it obviously wasn’t the kid’s _looks_ that attracted Maroni. Cobblepot’s features were far too sharp, not Maroni’s usual type at all.  Maroni’s dates were usually prime arm candy used to show off how successful and powerful Maroni was. They were around to be objects of envy and they knew it, _reveled_ in it.

If anything the Don took obvious pleasure in Cobblepot’s meek, sycophantic façade, and would touch him in public just to watch him blush and shy away. Once during a celebration of a successful heist Maroni pulled Cobblepot into his lap and kept him there as he squirmed and whined, “Don Maroni, _please._ Not in front of everyone.” They’d finished a bottle of champagne between them and left the party early.

There were raised eyebrows but no one had dared comment.

***

The first time Don Maroni invited Cobblepot to sit at the table while they talked business Frankie nearly swallowed his tongue. An uneasy silence fell over the table as Maroni pulled out the chair at his right side and Cobblepot hobbled to it. They sat close and Maroni poured him a glass of Pinot Noir while Cobblepot whispered in the Don’s ear.

Frankie had never interfered in Maroni’s personal life without express permission in the form of a hit, but it would not due to have a piece of tail hold such sway over the Don’s actions.  Penguin had smirked at him then, as if he could read Frankie’s mind, before he delicately sipped from the glass Maroni held to his lips.

***

“No disrespect boss, but your moll is getting a bit familiar,” Frankie said lowly. Cobblepot was in the kitchens and out of earshot. It had been getting increasingly difficult to find Maroni alone. Frankie had even gone to the Don’s house only to be turned away by a security guard saying the Don was _“entertaining a guest,”_ and not to be disturbed.

Maroni showed his teeth in a dark parody of a smile, and Frankie tried not to react when the Don reached over and adjusted his tie, hands close enough to strangle. “He’s not a moll,” Maroni pulled Frankie’s tie uncomfortably tight. “He's our golden goose. And I don’t recall asking for your opinion.” He gave Frankie a firm pat on the cheek before stepping back.

“Well _whatever_ he is Don Maroni, I don’t trust him.”

“You don’t need to trust him,” Maroni gave his head a slight shake when Frankie reached up to loosen his tie, and Frankie dropped his hands. “You need to trust _me_.”

Frankie nodded and murmured “Of course boss.” When he looked up Cobblepot caught his eyes through the glass of the kitchen’s swinging doors. His smile was sharp, like a knife to the gut.


	2. The Goon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cobblepot/Maroni from Gabe's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not betad

 

Penguin had insisted on going with them to the Nikolai job since it had been his idea and all. At least that’s what he told Don Maroni, Gabe knew the truth though. Frankie was gonna die. Poor Frankie.

Don Maroni wasn’t too happy with Penguin going but he let it happen anyway. Before they left he slipped a couple hundred into Gabe’s palm and said in a low voice, “Make sure the little guy don’t get killed.”

Gabe nodded and slid the bills into his breast pocket.

Frankie hadn’t been too happy with Penguin tagging along either. He scowled and glared but kept his mouth shut. He seemed to warm up to the idea eventually though, his smile sharp and toothy.

Of course Gabe found out later it was because he’d planned on putting a bullet in the little guy. Not that Gabe could have let that happen even if the Don hadn’t personally paid for his protection. There was a lot more money to be made in Frankie’s death than Penguin’s.

Frankie was a good guy, but business was business.

And Gabe had been looking into buying houseboat.

***

When they arrived back at Bamonte’s it took Maroni less than a second to notice the blood on Penguin’s cuffs. He grabbed him by the wrist, eyes darting, probably searching his body for bullet holes. “Are you hurt?”

Penguin shook his head and looked up at the Don through his lashes. “It’s Frankie’s. I tried to stop the bleeding but… he didn’t make it.”

Don Maroni’s mouth hung open as he looked to Gabe for confirmation. At Gabe’s nod he cursed and damned Nikolai and his men to hell.

“Cheech,” Maroni jutted his chin at the man standing near the door. “I want you to break the news to Frankie’s mother in person. Send her my condolences and let her know I’ll be covering all the funeral expenses.”

Cheech was out the door in a flash. The other men stood around solemnly, Frankie had been liked well enough even though he was a cheap bastard.

“I-I’m sorry Don Maroni,” Penguin’s bottom lip was trembling as he looked down at his feet.  “I wish I could have done more, If only I was faster or-”

“Hey now,” Maroni tilted Penguin’s head up with a finger under his chin. “None of that. Frankie knew the risks. It wasn’t your fault.”

Gabe bit his tongue. Damn but the little guy was a good actor. If he hadn’t watched him stab Frankie until _well_ after he was dead he might have bought his act. Don Maroni was certainly buying it if the way he pulled Penguin close was any indication.

***

“The pigs are going to rough him up a little, but don’t let nobody get at him in the jail cell, capisce? I don’t want any two-bit thugs getting their grubby hands on him.”

“You got it, boss.”

Penguin had been harassing the fishermen under their protection and Don Maroni wasn’t happy. He said the little guy needed to learn a lesson.

Gabe was surprised that the lesson wasn’t a bullet to the head with Penguin stepping so far out of line like that, but the boss was… different with Penguin.  The rules were different for him. Maybe that’s why Frankie had disliked him so much. Poor dead Frankie.

Later in the cell, after that scruffy detective compared Penguin to a bonsai tree, _whatever that was_ , Penguin sniffled and put his head on Gabe’s shoulder.  Gabe looked down as Penguin’s eyes fluttered shut, face all bruised up.  “You okay boss?”

“No,” Penguin growled. “Shut _up_.”

***

He really _did_ look a lot like one of those tuxedo birds.

The boss manhandled Penguin into a dark corner while most of the crew sat around a table playing poker and drinking grappa. A few of the guys had their girlfriends or mistresses with them, some were dancing to the music playing over the speakers and some were getting cozy in the booths.

Gabe was sitting with Cheech and Enzo trying to come up with a name for his new houseboat. So far he had come up with “Chumdinger” and Cheech had suggested “The Wet Wench.” He wanted to ask Penguin for ideas, the tiny freak was probably the smartest person Gabe knew, but Don Maroni had been keeping him pretty busy.

“Did you see Penguin’s new watch?” Enzo slurred drunkenly. “Platinum. What did that little fucker do to deserve-”

Cheech flicked Enzo between the eyes and said, “Mind your business.”

It had been a few days since the incident at the docks and Penguin’s face was healing up nice. The bruises were almost gone. It looked like the boss was inspecting his face up close again, tilting Penguin’s chin up like he liked to do.

Gabe looked away before he saw something he’d need to forget. If Don Maroni whispered something to Penguin before the unmistakable sounds of kissing came from their dark corner, well, Gabe didn’t hear a thing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan on this being at least five chapters, but we'll see what happens


	3. The Don

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oswald visits Don Falcone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta read, as usual.

Salvatore Maroni was a man of certain… predilections. They weren’t well known, discussed only in scandalized whispers by the bold or foolish, but they certainly weren’t _secret_.

“You can’t be surprised, Oswald. Surely Fish has mentioned it before,” Don Falcone dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin before settling it back on his lap. It was early in the day and Falcone had been enjoying a cup of coffee when Oswald had arrived. His biscotti sat half eaten on his plate.

Oswald shook his head slowly, eyes wide and unfocused as he tried to remember. “I-I don’t recall her ever discussing Maroni’s… preferences.”

That was unexpected, Maroni’s somewhat unusual taste in bed partners seemed like exactly the kind of gossip Fish would sink her manicured claws into. It was interesting, it was scandalous, it was… _exploitable_.

When Oswald had contacted Falcone and begged to meet saying he had an urgent matter to discuss, Carmine had expected bad news. He certainly hadn’t expected Oswald to tell him a bit shakily that he thought Maroni had been coming on to him.

“This a good thing. You can see that, right?”

Oswald’s mouth dropped open, then closed, and opened again. When he finally spoke his voice was a bit strangled, “I-I _can’t_. Don Falcone, surely you don’t mean for me to--”

“Are you a virgin, Oswald?”

The blush that had been creeping up Oswald’s collar bloomed fully onto his cheeks. He looked away and shrugged, like he was unsure or didn’t want to answer. The answer was clear anyway.

“Good. He’ll like that. Use it. You can put off… _the main act_ for a while, but _don’t_ reject him. This is a golden opportunity. Take advantage of it.”

The Don took a sip of his coffee while Oswald floundered for a response. It was almost endearing how scandalized he was.

“Don Falcone, _please_. I’m not suited for this type of subterfuge. I am no Mata Hari, I don’t know how to-to- _seduce_ anyone.”

The Don again wiped his mouth with his cloth napkin and tossed it on the table next to his empty coffee cup. “C’mere,” he beckoned Oswald closer with two fingers. “Let me get a look at you.”

Oswald stood from the table hobbled closer a bit sullenly. When he was near enough Falcone took him by the chin. Oswald was frowning, pouting like a petulant youth. His eyes were pretty, if somewhat stormy. The color was somewhere between seafoam green and a hurricane.  He turned Oswald’s head side to side, inspecting his inky black hair and sharp cheekbones. He patted Oswald on the face, not quite hard enough to be considered a slap. “You’ll do.”

“Don Falcone,” Oswald huffed, incredulous. “I can’t--”

“He bought you the suit you’re wearing, didn’t he?”

Oswald nodded, teeth clenched.

“Other gifts too I’m guessing.”

When Oswald rolled his eyes the Don decided that he’d had enough of his attitude.

“You don’t have to seduce him.” Falcone didn’t wait for Oswald to breathe a sigh of relief.  He twisted Oswald’s arm behind his back and hauled the smaller man into his lap in one quick motion. Oswald let out an indigent squawk which quickly became a whimper when Falcone twisted his hand up higher between his shoulder blades. “He wants to seduce _you_.”

“Ow, okay, _okay_.” When Oswald stopped struggling the Don let go of his wrist. Oswald cradled it to his chest with his other hand and tried to stand. Falcone pulled him closer. He ran his fingers through Oswald’s hair as a reward for his obedience. Oswald didn’t do anything for him personally but… he could see the attraction. It had a lot to do with the smaller man’s submission, as affected and fleeting as it was. That and Maroni liked a partner he could manhandle a bit. Oswald could take a beating for sure.

Oswald’s cheeks were flushed in either a blush or repressed rage and Falcone ran the back of his hand over one, savored the heat there. “You can do this. I have all the confidence in you Oswald.”

Oswald nodded and Falcone helped him stand.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Oswald’s face was passive and carefully expressionless, but that storm still raged behind his eyes. “I can do this.”

“This being?” Falcone prompted.

Oswald held out his arms and shrugged. “Be seduced, apparently.”

Falcone laughed and clapped him on the back.  He’d do just fine.

 

 


	4. The Detective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim Gordon's POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This turned out longer than expected. 
> 
> Some dialogue in the first seen taken directly from S1:E5 "Viper"

 

When Frankie Carbone had shown up at the station with Cobblepot’s name in his mouth Jim thought there was a pretty good chance he’d be dead by the end of the conversation.

Hell, he’d been on edge since Cobblepot had shown up at his apartment talking of war and decidedly _not_ staying away from Gotham like he was told.

But he survived the conversation, survived the drive to Bamonte’s with a sack over his head and a gun to the ribs, and survived the conversation with Salvatore Maroni.

All he’d had to do was tell the truth, as damning as it was. He hadn’t killed Oswald Cobblepot like Falcone had ordered him to. A decision he was regretting more and more each day.

“Just so that we uh, understand each other,” Maroni leaned into Jim, just a hint too close to be anything other than a challenge. “We’ll keep all this hush-hush between us pals,” he winked.  “And if I need you again, I’ll call you.”

Jim let his eyes slip to Oswald’s bloody and bruised face, watched him mouth his thanks, finally wise enough to keep quiet.

When Jim looked back Maroni was frowning, eyes narrowed. Jim nodded at him, said with just a hint of a sneer, “You do that.”

As Jim was being led to the door he heard Maroni talking to Oswald, tone amiable. “ _Look at you_. Let’s get you cleaned up. C’mon.”

Jim chanced a look back and saw Maroni leading Oswald to the back of the restaurant, hand on the back of his neck in a strangely intimate gesture. Oswald had his head bowed, shoulders tense, obviously still traumatized after nearly having his faced sliced into prosciutto.

Carbone cleared his throat and nudged Jim towards the door.

To Jim’s surprise Carbone followed him outside and gestured towards the car that delivered them to Bamonte’s.

“I can find my own way back, thanks.”

“Get in the car Gordon.” Frankie’s tone broached no argument.

It was just the two of them in the car, Jim in the passenger seat this time. No need for hoods or intimidation tactics he supposed now that the cat was out of the bag. Maroni had been pleased with what he’d heard. Pleased with Oswald in general if the kiss he’d planted on him had been any indication.

“Maroni has you chauffeuring now? I thought you were his second.”

The harsh sound of Carbone’s teeth grinding filled the cab as he drove Jim back to the station.

***

Oswald called him later that evening, because _of course_ he did.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this, Jim. They didn’t hurt you did they?”

“Does it matter? When Falcone finds out you’re alive we’re both dead.”

“I would never let that happen. You have to trust me.”

“What are you thinking anyway?” Jim paced the hall in outside of his and Barbara’s apartment. “Out of one gangster’s bed and into another? It’s like you’re _trying_ to get killed.”

Strangely Oswald gasped at that. “Jim I assure you, I am in _no one’s_ bed.”

Jim ran his fingers though his hair and squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. “It’s a phrase. I’m not suggesting— _Jesus_.”

Oswald let out a strangled sound. “ _Oh_. Of course.”

“You’re a fool if you think Maroni will keep you safe from Falcone.”

“It’s touching to know you’re concerned for my wellbeing, Jim. But I can take care of myself.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “In the future just leave me out of it alright?”

***

Oswald didn’t leave him out of it.

He called about a week later and slurred “Hello, old friend,” into Jim’s ear.

“Are you drunk?” Jim hissed. He slid out of bed, careful not to wake Barbara.

“A little.” Oswald breathed deeply, as if steeling himself for something. “I-I need a favor.”

Jim slipped into the bathroom and locked the door. “I think I’ve done you _enough_ favors. And it’s three in the morning for _Christ sake_.”

“No, I know. You’re right. _You’re right_. ” Jim heard what sounded like a muffled sob. “ _I’m sorry_.”

Jim grimaced and sighed. “What do you want?” He regretted asking as soon as the words left his mouth.

“Would you... I’ve never…” Oswald paused for a second then blurted, “Have you ever been with a man, Jim?”

“ _What_?” He felt his spine snap ramrod straight, caught his own bewildered eyes in the mirror above the sink. “Why would you… _no_. No I haven't.”

“Oh.” Oswald sighed. “Yeah, me neither. With anyone. I don’t know what I was waiting for, but now it… it doesn’t matter.”

He heard Oswald take a long drink, so long he had to catch his breath after.  

“Look,” Jim sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Whatever this is, just sleep it off okay? I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened. I don’t want to be involved in your love life.”

“Love?” Oswald laughed bitterly. “Love is a luxury, detective.”

Jim could hear Barbara stirring in the other room. “Don’t call me again.”

He should have hung up then, but he didn’t. He listened to Oswald take another drink and then heard him sniff quietly. Jim could picture him with wet eyes and a bottle in his hand.

“I’ve always liked you, Jim,” Oswald sniffed again and then cleared his throat.  He was building up to something, and Jim felt a knot of dread settle in his stomach. “I think my first, _you know_ , should be with someone I like. At least.”

There was a timid knock on the bathroom door. “Jim, are you okay?” Barbara.

Jim hung up without another word.

***

When word got out that Penguin was alive things got better and worse for Jim Gordon. Better because he no longer had that albatross around his neck, and worse because… well… _everything_ else. At least Falcone had decided to spare his life, and Harvey had eventually forgiven him in his own way. But Barbara was having nightmares about Victor Zsasz every night. He had never meant for her to get dragged into this mess, but he had decided to “do the right thing” and she was paying for it.

“Hey,” Harvey plopped down in a chair next to Jim. “Your friend Penguin was in a holding cell the other day.”

Jim grunted. “He’s not my friend.”

Harvey laughed and held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Just thought you might find it interesting, man. At first I thought the rumors about him and Maroni were just that, because no way would Maroni let his supposed _boy-toy_ rot in a cell, but then Maroni _himself_ shows up and—”

“Whoa, whoa, did you say _boy-toy_?” Jim cringed, the words sounded just as appalling coming out of his own mouth.

“Yeah man,” Harvey leaned forward in his chair, eager to share the gossip. “Maroni and Penguin. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

“And what was it you saw?” Jim didn’t know why he asked, his stomach was already churning inexplicably.

“Well I didn’t see them banging if that’s what you’re asking,” Harvey laughed. He looked over his shoulder and then back at Jim. “Can you imagine? It’d be like watching a bull mount a dove.” Harvey laughed again. “Or a penguin.”

***

When he had suggested using Maroni as bait for Jack Buchinsky he hadn’t expected Oswald to come along with him. Especially since he had been electrocuted to the point of unconsciousness.

“The little guy stays with me.” Maroni’s gaze was unyielding, jaw set. “Or I walk.”

“He belongs in a hospital.” Jim’s eyes darted to the unconscious man on the gurney. Oswald was still smoldering a little.

Maroni rose from where he was sitting at the back of the ambulance and blocked Jim’s view. “He’s safer with me.”

Jim looked in Oswald’s direction and back to Maroni with an eyebrow raised. “ _Clearly._ ”

Maroni scowled and stepped even further into Jim’s personal space. “You got something to say, detective?”

Jim had a few things to say but there was no time to argue. Buchinsky could strike at any time. Oswald ended up slung over some goon’s shoulder and deposited on a desk in the middle of the police station.

All night Maroni sat next to the unconscious Oswald, drinking espresso and charming the pants off half the GCPD with his jokes and wild stories. Jim noticed the subtle glances Maroni leveled at Oswald while he was talking though. Possessive. Anxious.

Jim thought about that drunken phone call he’d gotten in the middle of the night all those weeks ago and wondered what in the hell Oswald had gotten himself into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left! Zsasz is next, should be fun.
> 
> Thanks for all of your comments and encouragement, it really means a lot <3


	5. The Hitman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor Zsasz meets Oswald Cobblepot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning, mind the tags, etc.
> 
> Set during season one like the other chapters. Some dialogue taken directly from a few episodes but I'm too lazy to look up the exact episodes at the moment. Maybe Later. Not beted as usual. Thanks everyone who stuck around for the *mumble* months it took to finish this last chapter.

The first time Victor laid eyes on Oswald Cobblepot he was limping into Falcone’s study looking freshly beaten. Victor knew who he was in passing. Fish’s umbrella-boy-cum-snitch-cum-zombie-cum-Maroni’s bitch. They locked eyes. Oswald’s unwavering scowl held more than a trace of fear. Victor felt a rush of endorphins, let himself growl. Surely Falcone would let him kill this one.

Falcone waved his hand. “Let him be.”

Disappointing. The whole day was a waste. Falcone had been sitting around looking defeated and empty since Liza was taken. If only Falcone would let him _handle_ things. It would be so easy to kill Fish’s men, to get the girl back, to stop Falcone’s _moping_.

But Victor did as he was told. He stood behind Falcone and watched Oswald drop to his knees like a good little bitch. Maybe if he asked nicely, said the _magic word_ , Falcone would change his mind. Oswald was in the perfect position for an execution, gangland-style.

When Oswald spoke everything changed. For the first time in his life Victor was glad he hadn’t killed someone. It was a strange feeling.

But.

Oswald informed them that Liza was planted by Fish, which meant they wouldn’t have to resort to non-violence after all.

Falcone hadn’t been happy, of course. The mobster’s visions of raising chickens in the country with his frankly _boring_ girlfriend were obliterated with that one sentence. Falcone backhanded Oswald across his already bruised face. Blood dripped from his mouth onto the lapels of his bespoke suit. It was a good look on him.

Nevertheless Oswald was so insistent. So sure.

Victor felt almost giddy.

He messaged his girls, there was work to be done.

 

***

 

They took out Fish’s men as easily as he’d predicted. Two outside, two inside. Four headshots. Butch, Fish, and Liza were blissfully unaware. They had their own unique ends awaiting them.

Zsasz rolled up a sleeve as they waited for Falcone to get in position. He grabbed the box cutter from his pocket and made four neat slashes inside his forearm.

Oswald scoffed and Victor looked up in time to see him roll his eyes. “Cutting yourself? How melodramatic. Feeling guilty?”

Victor glanced at the bodies his girls were piling the corner and then back at Oswald. He was staring at Victor’s arm, expression morphing from prissy and judgmental to open fascination.

“Are those… tallies?” Oswald briefly worried his bottom lip and met Victor’s eyes. When he spoke again his voice had a huskiness to it. “There are _so many_.”

Victor pocketed his box cutter and stepped towards Oswald until they were toe to toe. Oswald stiffened, his pupils dilated. Victor leaned in close, sniffed, opened his mouth a little and tasted electricity in the air. _Curious_.

“You smell like lightning.”

Oswald swallowed and Victor’s eyes tracked the movement of his Adam’s apple bobbing above his collar. Oswald cleared his throat. “I was electrocuted earlier. _Twice_.”

 “Oh,” Victor cocked his head to the side. “Kinky.”

“Hardly,” Oswald huffed a laugh.

Victor felt himself smile.

 

***

 

With Don Falcone’s permission Zsasz procured a very special gift for Oswald. He spent weeks in his basement working on it with various knives, cattle prods, and good old fashioned psychological torture. He was so engrossed in his project that he had to let his girls take care of a few contracts without him.

It was worth it though, just for the look on Oswald’s face when Butch started to dance for him.

“I do good work,” he attested.

They laughed together as Butch continued to soft-shoe for their amusement.

“Thank you friend,” Oswald said nearly clapping Zsasz on the shoulder and then thinking better of it, letting his hand hover for a moment before crossing his arms over his chest. “This is a surprising but most welcome gift. How can I ever repay you?”

Victor thought for a second. There was very little he wanted that he couldn’t obtain for himself. He did however possess an unwavering curiosity on a subject matter that Falcone had told him not to bother himself with. So he decided to bother Penguin with it instead. “Were the rumors about you and Maroni true?”

Butch stumbled for a moment and then continued to dance.

Oswald’s eyes narrowed. “What rumors would those be?”

Victor raised a brow. “I think you know.” He met Oswald’s stare with his own unwavering gaze.

“I’m sure I have no idea—”

“The word _catamite_ was thrown around a bit.”

The sound of the slap echoed around the room, only interrupted by the sounds of Butch shuffling his feet in an endless dance.

Oswald looked more shocked than Victor felt.  A dawning horror washed over his face as he held the offending hand to his chest and backed up a step. Victor felt an overwhelming surge of fondness for the strange little man in front of him. He moved closer to Oswald, matching him step for step.

“P-please forgive me friend,” Oswald begged. “I didn’t mean to, to—for god’s sake Butch _stop dancing_!”

Victor turned his head when the sound of shuffling feet stopped and Oswald took the opportunity to bolt.

He didn’t get far of course, Victor was faster and had the benefit of two working legs after all. He caught Oswald by the lapels and jerked him close.

“I can pay you! I’ll give you whatever you want, just don’t--”

Victor shushed him and wrapped his arms around the shorter man. He didn’t give out hugs very often, but when he did he was told he was quite good at them.

“Um,” Oswald’s voice was muffled by the fabric of Victor’s coat. He swallowed and cleared his throat twice before speaking. “I’m sorry but, _what is happening_ right now? Are you… _hugging_ me?”

Victor shrugged but didn’t let go.  “You looked like you needed it.”

Penguin didn’t hug him back, but Victor could feel him relax and lean into the embrace.

“You guys want some privacy or something?” Butch called tentatively, sounding hopeful. “I can go upstairs if you want.”

Victor took a moment to glare at Butch, effectively shutting him up and making him tremble in his Italian leather wingtips.

 

***

 

Victor just wanted to have a drink, hang out with his friends, and maybe dance to some of disco’s greatest hits. But, as it occasionally happened, some underling of some low level mob “boss” recognized him and thought it would be a good idea to try and impress him.

This guy was on the outer, outer, _outer_ ring of Sal Maroni’s influence. He was no one. At least not anymore.

Victor had taken him into the bathroom and splattered his brains across the urinals with a single shot to the temple while the Bee Gee’s “How Deep is Your Love” played.

He didn’t usually shoot people for annoying him, he had more restraint than that. The city would be a giant rotting pile of corpses if he just went and killed whoever he wanted all willy-nilly.

But this guy. _This guy._

Not only was he obnoxious, he thought Victor would be impressed by a two minute cell phone video of Don Maroni, “ _teaching a snitch a lesson_.”

It started with Maroni talking to the camera, looking smug and telling someone off screen that he was about to get what he deserved.

The camera flipped around to show Oswald on his knees in front of a fireplace in what looked like a cabin. His hands were tied behind his back. His face was bruised, as it so often was while he worked for Maroni. It was clear what was going to happen in the video, and when he heard the sound of Maroni’s zipper Victor slapped his hand over the screen and said, “Bathroom.”

The guy smirked and paused the video. He followed Victor to the bathroom, and as soon as the door swung shut Victor put a bullet in him. He must have hit play on the video though, because Victor could hear Oswald gagging and Maroni telling him, “Take it.”

Victor put a bullet in the phone too.  

 

***

 

Don Falcone was like a father to him, and much less dead than his _actual_ father. He took Victor in during the lowest point in his life, taught him manners and self-control. Gave him a job that he _loved_. If only he would let him do it more often.

He was _bored_.

That’s how he ended up in Penguin’s bedroom in the middle of the night, watching the man sleep fitfully. It was creepy, Victor was well aware of that. But he also didn’t care. He was a creepy guy.

 “Hello Penguin.”

Oswald bolted upright with a gasp, instantly awake. “Who’s there?” He shouted. He groped under his pillow and pulled out a knife.

“It’s probably not a good idea to sleep with a knife in your bed.”

Oswald blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the dark. “Victor? Are you here to kill me?”

“If I was, you’d be dead already.” Victor flopped down on the bed next to Oswald and made himself comfortable. “How do you feel about disco?”

Oswald lowered the knife but maintained a white knuckled grip on the weapon. “I’m not a fan.”

Victor hmm’d in response. They lied on the bed in silence for a few moments until Oswald snapped, “Why are you here?”

“I don’t know,” Victor replied and turned on his side, facing Oswald. He gently grabbed the wrist of the hand wielding the knife. “I guess I like you.”

“Oh,” Oswald stared at where Victor’s gloved hand was wrapped around his wrist. He blinked a few times, seemingly at a loss for anything to say. “Do you… have any new tallies?”

Victor gave a minute shrug. “Not as many as I’d like.”

Oswald showed his teeth in a mean, _evil_ little smile.  “We’ll have to rectify that.”

They would make beautiful murder together, of that Victor had no doubt.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kudos and comments! I appreciate every single one xD


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